


What Minerva Really Thinks of That Potter Boy

by liseuse



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liseuse/pseuds/liseuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva writes end of term reports, and ponders a difficult pupil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Minerva Really Thinks of That Potter Boy

There are certain things, Minerva thinks, that one should never be called upon to do. Hold detention on Saturday evenings, be faced with Slughorn in the mornings when you've yet to have a cup of tea, or spend your free evening cajoling the Giant squid into giving someone their notebooks back. But all of these were paling into insignificance now that she was faced with the most dreadful task of all: end of term reports. Worse, end of term reports for the seventh years. Reports that future employers would want to see. Would read and care about and make decisions based upon. These were not written in five minutes and filed away into eternity like every other end of term report but were in fact important. And as such took up time and energy and required a lot of careful hedging around subjects. They seemed to be taking up extra time and energy this year. She'd done all the nice and easy ones such as Mairead Finnegan's and Lily Evans', but this merely meant she was faced with Black, Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew's. How could she accurately distill them into a page of parchment, make them seem attractive to future employers, but not reveal just how much trouble they had actually been during their time at Hogwarts?

It seemed, she thought, wise to get the hardest out of the way first. Black's, after all, would not be entirely difficult to write. He'd settled down a lot in the past year and besides was an above-average student with enough know-how of the Wizarding World to get by. She also suspected he wouldn't be looking too hard for a period of gainful employment after Hogwarts, having inherited a large fortune off his uncle. Pettigrew, it seemed from his end of term meeting, was destined to go work under one of his uncles in the Ministry, doing what she wasn't sure, but it was a job and all lined up. Lupin's would be tricky to word, but his academic standing was of no trouble, and he was nothing if not conscientious. Also, much as she wished it would be otherwise, it seemed more likely than not that Lupin would be ending up in Muggle employment after school and thus his Hogwarts end of term report was not going to be of any use. Any half-decent wizard of his age would be able to mock up a fake set of Muggle exam results and a fake C.V. of some kind.

However, Potter was a different kettle of fish. His academics were fine, and he'd been a proud and exemplary member of the Quidditch team for years. He, too, had settled down recently, but he was actually going for a job in the Ministry, and with the turn the Ministry was making politically and his parents' well known views, he couldn't rely on his family name to the same extent as Pettigrew or even Black could. It was lucky Minerva supposed, that Potter showed no signs of interest in rising through the Ministry and ending up as something grand and important but just wanted a normal entry level position where he'd have enough free time to spend with Lily, go down the pub, and still play pick-up Quidditch on the weekends. She suspected that her job would have been even harder had she had to write a report that accurately yet skillfully negotiated the path of "Of course Mr Potter would be a fantastic asset to your team and is destined for a bright future as ascendant to the Head of Department."

Sighing, Minerva set down her quill carefully and stood up. Straightening her robes she moved across the hallway to make a fresh pot of tea. Standing in the kitchen, she wondered if Slughorn was having this much trouble with his students. It was at times like this that she envied Hooch her job. No one asked the Quidditch coach for end-of-term reports; all the students who were going on to play Quidditch professionally had already been scouted and were being courted by various teams. Perhaps she should have suggested to Potter in his end of term meeting that he too try out for professional Quidditch. He was good enough by far, but it seemed that he was starting to desire a regular job and a settled existence. One, she suspected, he was going to share with Lily Evans. To Minerva it still seemed too early to be settling down, but she realised that the world was more uncertain these days than it had been when she'd left Hogwarts. Students were thinking about families and careers and the best ways to care for loved ones, not what low-paying job they could get to just cover the rent on some scratty flat. It made her sad, this loss of innocence and daydreaming. These were children being let out of school and against her desires, but also for her needs, they were going to go straight into the world. Some of them were going straight into this new fight, this new crusade against evil, and they were going to lose their lives and cause yet more grief and devastation. Potter had already lost his parents to this fight; they'd died of old age, she knew, but surely the stress of fighting against the Ministry and the new threat to the Wizarding World had played more than its fair share in their deaths. And now Potter and his soon to-be wife were going to plunge themselves headlong into the fight, as well. That's why none of them were looking for fast-track jobs or the newest and best career; too much responsibility at a time when there was enough responsibility and stress to be found in merely surviving and keeping their world intact.

Minerva picked up the teapot and, swirling it carefully, began to pour. That done, she picked up the mug and headed back to the study. Sitting down at her desk she picked up her quill, dipped it into the inkpot and then, tapping it to get rid of excess ink, pulled the parchment towards her. Smiling slightly she thought back over the seven years she'd known James Potter. She'd watched him grow from a small boy with a shock of black hair and an excess of energy, through his cruel teenage years, with a fierce devotion to his friends and his willingness to do anything in the line of duty, into the young man who'd stood before her a few days ago, saying that he wanted to make his parents proud of him, that he wanted to prove that they could win this war, and that he'd do anything in his power to help. She remembered how scared he'd looked when the group had been stood in her office that dreadful time in sixth year, how he'd rounded on Sirius who was sniffling into his sleeve and told him to shut up, because if he didn't he'd have no fucking teeth. How he'd looked immediately contrite and apologised to her for the language. She thought about his undying devotion to winning Lily Evans and the look of terror on his face at the first Head Boy and Girl meeting, how he'd visibly bitten his tongue to stop himself saying anything that would incur her never-ending wrath, and just how ecstatic he'd looked when they'd finally gone on a date. But most of all she remembered the nights he'd visited Lupin in the hospital ward, long after Sirius and Peter had disappeared off to bed, how he'd sat there and read to him and told him all about the classes he'd missed. Done it not for love, but because he was a friend and needed taking care of, because that was what James did. She remembered how bravely he'd borne the news of his parent's deaths, how he'd straightened his shoulders in her office and swallowed once before walking into the Floo and gone home to sort the affairs out. How he'd stood, resplendent in formal robes, at the funeral and delivered the most heartbreaking speech Minerva had ever heard, about duty and sacrifice and the line of fire. About standing up for what you believed in and never letting anyone destroy a world in which people lived, breathed and loved. And she remembered him crying bitterly onto Sirius' shoulder later that evening, sitting outside under the willow tree in the back garden, a cigarette burning away in his fingers and tears streaming down his face.

"Potter, James ..."


End file.
